


Just Because

by Dulcinea



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-14
Updated: 2012-04-14
Packaged: 2017-11-03 15:59:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/383265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dulcinea/pseuds/Dulcinea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Punk gets a cheer-up gift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Because

**Author's Note:**

> For Audrey.

He couldn’t remember the last time he got sick— _really_ sick, like now. It was obvious everyone was worried about him, and he didn’t want the sympathy, the concern or anything like that. So he sequestered himself to the back, using Kofi as his human shield and bodyguard to ward off anyone from coming in until he prepared properly for the show tonight.

Then the door opened. “Hey.” And it wasn’t Kofi who stuck his head inside.

Punk glared up at Cena from where he sat on the locker room bench. “Hi.”

“You hungry?”

“Why?”

“Well.” John stepped into the room, holding a tupperware bowl in his big meaty hands. “Being that we’re in Boston and all, my mom came over with some goodies, one of which was this.” He lifted up that bowl and shook it around. Liquid swished. “Yummy homemade chicken noodle soup, mm mm good.” He grinned, coming over to stand next to Punk. “And, there’s a little bird floating around saying someone isn’t feeling well, so, I figured you’d like some.”

Punk said nothing.

John’s smile waned. “Unless you ate?” He shrugged. “Or you’re not hungry?”

“I like tomato.”

“… Oh.” John looked away. His shoulders slumped. The tupperware bowl tipped forward.

Punk sighed. _Son of a bitch._ He waved to an empty seat next to him. “Leave it there.”

When he looked up again, he found John grinning ear-to-ear. “Cool.” He placed it on the seat, removing the top. “It’s got some great herbs and spices, I’m sure you’ll like it.”

“Uh-huh.” He bit his tongue from saying, _It’s chicken noodle, dork, nothing special about it._

His eyes rolled watching John pull out of his pocket a plastic spoon and napkin. “Here you go.”

“Yeah, thanks.” He waved him off with one hand, the other going to his throbbing temple, where another headache started up. “Now go already.” _So I can kill Kofi for letting you in, bastard._

“Oh yeah, sure, okay.” A hand settled on his shoulder. “Um, enjoy.”

His eyes flew wide open when a soft kiss pressed to his cheek.

By the time he pushed out of his seat, John was already across the room, a hand on the door. And John cut him off from saying anything with a wave and a, “See ya Punk, feel better soon.”

The door shut. Punk slumped back onto the bench, staring at where John left.

_The hell was that—_

He jumped a little when the door opened again and John poked his head back in to say, “And don’t worry about the tupperware, keep it for yourself. Bye.”

When it shut again, Punk settled back down, pressing his throbbing forehead to his palm. _Man._ He chuckled, running the palm over his face. _John Cena. You dweeb._

Punk eyed the tupperware bowl and plastic spoon beside him. The aroma of spices, herbs and chicken broth filled the air, and his stomach growled loud enough to make the decision for him.

“Fuck it.”

He ate the soup, enjoying each bite spoonful by spoonful, and when finished, finally called in Kofi and chewed him out.


End file.
